The Only Decisions Left
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Once upon a time, Howard considered cornrows. Maybe dreadlocks. Not an afro, because then his head would just look cartoonishly large on his small body. Now he stares into the mirror with scissors and a shaver and can't remember the last time he saw a bottle of shampoo. Most of the FAYZ kids are going for dreadlocks or just letting their hair turn into tangled mats of dirt and grease. Howard has a mass of snarled kinks, and with the heat of summer, it's come time to tame it. He slices off as many messy chunks as he can manage on his own. He sure as hell won't be asking Astrid to cut it.
It was once a big decision, hair and clothing, appearances and reputations. It required planning, and committing to anything was a momentous occasion. Since the wall went up and the rules went down, all the decisions fell away. No choice but to adapt and live their lives by whatever rules the powers that be set up.
No electricity? Learn to use candles, wake up early and conduct all business before sundown. No food? Learn to fill the aching hole in your stomach with hamsters and roots and rotten cabbage and threads from ripped jeans. No choices, no stable ground, no predictability, no hope?
Howard thinks about his fifteenth birthday, only a few weeks away.
He hears Orc waking up in the next room, tosses a few hunks of black hair out the open window, and puts the scissors away in the drawer.